Angelus Mortis
by Randomnormality
Summary: When Heaven shatters and the angels are forced to Fall, the Winchesters and their resident ex-angel, Castiel, are greeted by a vaguely familiar face from Castiel's past. Azreal, the Angel of Death, and the last remaining Archangel, requests their help in restoring Heaven to its rightful place.
1. Chapter 1

**Angelus Mortis**

**Summary:**

When Heaven shatters and the angels are forced to Fall, the Winchesters and their resident ex-angel, Castiel, are greeted by a vaguely familiar face from Castiel's past. Azreal, the Angel of Death, and the last remaining Archangel, requests their help in restoring Heaven to its rightful place.

**Author's Note: **

I have done a background research on Azreal and adopted customs and beliefs from various religions. There are several different views and references to the Angel of Death, one being that Azreal is the _last to die_, as Azreal records and erases names of men at their birth and death. The other is depicting Azreal as commander of God's legion, as well as having a 'profound bond' with God and God alone. So really, Azreal answers to only two beings in the Supernatural world; God and Death. The only thing I take credit for in the creative license of this story is _how_ Azreal came into existence. Azreal is said to reside in Third Heaven, or 'God's abode'.

Take the time to review/follow after reading. I'd like to know what my readers enjoy about the story and what they'd like to see.

* * *

**Chapter One  
**_The Angel of Two Fathers_

* * *

_"You have seen what has happened," the velvety voice greets Azreal's ears._

_"Yes."_

_"You know what must be done."_

_"I do."_

_"It will not be an easy task. Metatron has over-stepped his boundaries. He will be watching for any sign of anyone attempting to repair the damage he has done."_

_"What is my task?"_

_"Find the Angel with Heart of Man. He often resides within the company of the Two Chosen. They possess the ability to track and locate the Fallen Ones. With their help, you cannot fail."_

_Silence fills the air, until Azreal's voice breaks it, "The Angel of Thursday and the Winchesters."_

_"Yes. You have assisted them before. Perhaps they will be willing to help you with the task before you."_

_"Perhaps?"_

_"They are not too keen on trusting your kind. They have dealt with betrayal at the hands of Heaven's Warriors."_

_"I will do whatever is needed to succeed. With or without their help."_

_"Then it is time for you to find a vessel. I have located your chosen vessel. Good luck, my Child."_

Golden-flecked green eyes snap open as a young woman in her late twenties sits upright from the bed. A quick appraisal of the open area of the single level loft apartment is taken before she moves from the bed. Finding appropriate clothing; a pair of lean-fit boot-leg jeans, a dark plum colored tunic-styled shirt and a black leather duster jacket, the woman grants her reflection a glance. Tilting her head, she observes her features with blatant curiosity. The last time she had walked among the Human race, Pagan worship was still in its prime, and the Holy Father was merely coming upon the cusp of acceptance as the Higher Power. Things have obviously changed. Her hair was as dark as a crow's feather, brushing over her shoulders in loosely-spun curls and seemed to carry streaks of a violent shade of purple. Curious, she muses inwardly. Her body was relatively compact, petite in all manners, and seemed to carry more of a runner's build. Well, her appearance is misleading, no doubt, but she figures it will come to work in her favor.

Glancing up toward the ceiling, she figures it is time to begin her mission. Closing her eyes, she feels her body shift through time and space before coming to a stop. Upon opening her eyes, she looks up at the large library towering over her. Climbing the steps, the woman enters the building and upon seeing the middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk, she calmly approaches the desk.

"Pardon me," she greets, the accented voice of her vessel causing the woman's eyes to snap away from the thin, square non-reflective mirror mounted on the desk. _A computer._ Her vessel provides. "I am looking for a pictured atlas of the Continental United States."

Receiving the directions, the dark-haired woman makes weaves through bookcases until she appears in the correct place. Locating the map, she removes it from the slotted bracket mounted on the wall and turns toward the table nearby. Spreading the map out, she immediately takes in the expanse of the country. Blinking, the golden flecks in her eyes flash and in an instant she locates a void located in a state named Kansas.

Wards against angels. Her lips twitch with bemusement. Maybe the Two Chosen and Thursday won't be as difficult to find as she first believed.

* * *

Castiel may not carry his grace, but that does not seem to stop his ability to sense when something is wrong. As he follows Dean and Sam Winchester into the 'Bat Cave', though he is still unsure why Dean calls it this, as Castiel has yet to find any bats in the premise, the hairs along the back of his neck stand up. Following the instinct, he pauses mid-step, silently keeping both of the Winchesters from advancing further. Motioning for them to remain silent, Castiel peers around, a stoic expression on his face despite the calculating gleam in his blue eyes.

His gaze immediately snaps back to the figure sitting at the long table seated in the middle of the foyer. Boot-clad feet rest on top of the table, the woman not acknowledging their presence as she carefully turns the page in an old tome. He can tell from the sudden spike of tension in the air that neither of the brothers recognize the dark-haired woman lounging casually in their lair. A small, humorous snort sounds from the woman, her head shaking as though she finds something amusing within the pages.

"Not even close," the woman murmurs, her voice melodic, and yet Castiel picks up on the dark undertone hidden in her tone, "Are you going to stand there all day staring, or are you going to introduce yourselves?" Golden-flecked green eyes lazily moves from the book to meet the three of them, "Although, the three of you don't need introductions, do you?"

"Who the hell are you?" Dean cuts in viciously, his moss-green eyes burning bright with distrust.

The woman's legs drop from the table and with one hand, she snaps the book closed and slides it across the length of the table. Castiel's gaze drops to the front cover, his eyes crawling over the script along the leather cover. _The Zohar._ Castiel's shoulders tense and his gaze snaps toward the woman in a flash.

"Something wrong, old friend?" The woman greets, her eyes never wavering from Castiel's.

"Azreal," Castiel greets cooly, eyes cold.

"Azreal? Who the hell is Azreal?"

At the two questions coming from Sam, the woman stands from her chair and bows mockingly, "I go by many names, but I prefer Azreal. Most cultures refer to me as the Angel of Death. I must say, Thursday. It has been a long time since we've last seen each other," Her head tilts, eyes crinkling, "Well, since you've _seen_ me anyway."

"That's impossible," Sam states, "This place is warded against angels."

Azreal smiles, all three men tensing even more, "Oh I know. I have to say, it's quite impressive. I've never seen such a catalog of tomes cultivated in one place before."

"Azreal is not like other angels," Castiel states curtly, "While she is technically an Archangel, she was not created like the rest of us."

Obviously, Azreal sees the curiosity and confusion in both of the men and nods, "I am an angel born from two Fathers," Shock flickers through the two varying hazel eyes, "Obviously God is one, and Death is the second."

"Death? As in...Death? Old creepy guy that likes deep dish pizza?" Dean harks, earning a pointed glare from Castiel, only for the man to shrug, "What? He does."

"Death does carry a certain iffinity for pizza," Azreal agrees, her lips twitching at the comment

"Okay, so what the hell do you want? No offense, but we've had our fill of angels," Sam says in a tone that is obviously trying to not offend the being in front of them.

Azreal's eyes flash gold briefly before filtering back to their original green, her gaze settling on Castiel. Assessing him. Measuring him. Castiel's body tenses. Is she here to punish him for his crimes? He did help break Heaven. Again. Dean and Sam instinctively move to stand before him.

"No," Castiel murmurs gently, "Whatever she is meant to do comes from God. If Azreal is here to bring forth His judgment, then I will accept His will."

"Seriously, Cas? He abandons Heaven, doesn't try to fix anything that His angels have done and you're willing to follow _His_ will? What the hell for?" Dean sneers, eyes flashing with anger.

Azreal's head tilts as she assesses the Righteous Man, a small giggle leaving her lips, "You're not wrong, but at the same time, you're not correct." Dean's glare turns on her, but she waves toward it with a dismissive hand, "God left Heaven for reasons, but that doesn't mean He has abandoned any of you."

"What the hell would you know about it? Where were you when those winged dicks tried to tear apart this world? Where were you when Cas had to take down Raphael and went about it the wrong way? Where were you when Metatron decided to kick all the angels out of Heaven?" Dean lashes out viciously.

"Guiding lost souls beyond the gates of Heaven," Azreal replies calmly, her eyes remarkably soft, "My orders come _directly_ from God."

"So, He is alive?" Sam asks.

Azreal nods, "He is. Whatever reason that has caused Him to leave Heaven is not known to me and I do not question it. I follow His will, and His will alone. And I am _here_ because someone renounced all of the angels from Heaven."

Castiel swallows thickly, his human heart pounding in his chest. He has never really experienced fear. Never this way. Angels do not have the capacity to feel emotions, but he is no longer an angel. His fingers twitch, his palms growing damp as his heart hammers in his chest.

"If all of the angels are renounced, then why are you still...mojo'd?" Dean asks, his shoulders squaring off in defense of his friend.

"I often reside in the only place this...spell cannot touch."

Castiel nods, "Azreal spends most time in Third Heaven, or God's abode."

"Yeah, well, regardless, whatever the hell you want, you aren't getting. If you want Cas, you're gonna have to take him by force."

Dean and Sam both tense as the woman steps toward Castiel, but with a wave of her hand, both of the Winchesters are thrown across the room and pinned to adjacent walls. Ignoring the curses thrown in her direction, Azreal manages to maneuver her way throw Castiel's defenses and with a combination, the ex-angel is pinned to the floor. Wide-eyed, Castiel peers into the glowing golden eyes of the archangel poised over him. Acceptance swirls in Castiel's eyes. He is responsible for most of the damage done to Heaven. All he has wanted to do is repent for his wrong-doings. Betraying the Winchesters. Opening Purgatory. Releasing the Leviathan. Killing thousands of innocents. Believing himself to be a God.

"No!"

A burst of light fills the room as Azreal's open palm connects with Castiel's chest, the ex-angel's back arching, his lips parting in a silent scream at the flood of impossible heat rips through his body. Despite the bright light filling the room, Castiel's vision floods with black and his mind falls blank.

* * *

Azreal stumbles away from the unconscious figure on the ground, her legs shaking and knees threatening to buckle under the weight of her vessel's body. Even as the two Winchesters are released from their bound state against the walls and immediately rush to Castiel's side, Azreal shakes away the heavy darkness. It has been a long time since she has had to do that. Blindly putting more distance between herself and Thursday, the back of her legs smack against a random table, causing her to stumble and give into the pressure of gravity. Hitting the ground, she stares blankly at the dome ceiling of the underground bunker and everything stops. Her heart stops beating. Her lungs stop breathing. Her brain falls numb. Her senses blank.

_"You realize what you have done?"_

_"Yes."_

_"And you accept?"_

_"I had no choice."_

_"No choice?"_

_"You wish me to over-throw Metatron with their help, but they will not accept this mission without some kind of...proof."_

_"You could have received it on sense of good faith."_

_"They would have to __**have**__ faith. This small offer will be beneficial."_

_"Very well."_

Awareness returns. Her senses are the first to return, her blank eyes taking in the figure kneeling over her. Calloused fingers leave the side of her neck. The word 'dead' trickles in her ears. Seeing the moss-green eyes staring down at her with hard mistrust and confusion, her eyelids slide shut before opening once more.

"Jesus Christ!"

As Dean Winchester jumps away from her prone body, Azreal slowly sits upright, eyes immediately landing on the still unconscious Castiel. Groaning as her vessel's body begins reanimating, she slowly climbs to her feet, only to come face-to-face with both Winchesters.

"What did you do to Cas?" Dean demands.

Azreal says nothing as she snaps her fingers. The single sound seems to do something as Castiel's body snaps upright, gasping for air and eyes wide. The sudden movement pulls the attention off of her, giving Azreal enough time to gather herself. Rubbing the sleeves of her leather jacket, Azreal shudders at the loss of warmth.

"W-why?" Castiel's voice breaks through her inner musings, her attention to the man being helped off the ground by both of his friends, "Y-you.."

"It isn't full. Some of it returned to Third Heaven, but most of it remains in the hands of Metatron," Azreal explains, "It should be enough to heal and smite low level demons."

"What is she talking about?" Sam questions.

Castiel's hand gently clasps over his sternum, a look of awe in her eyes, "My grace."

Azreal nods at the stunned looks she receives, "God has commanded me to remove Metatron from the Host. In order to do it, I must return the grace of those that have Fallen and I was told you had information on their whereabouts."

_**I must speak with you, Little One.**_

A familiar chill travels up her spine and her eyes raise toward the ceiling once again, "I'm afraid I must go for now. Take this time to come to a decision. This mission will continue with or without your help."

"Then why come to us?" Sam asks, glancing over at his companions.

Azreal's head cocks slightly, a crooked smile tugging on her lips, "Why not you three?"

Without another comment, Azreal closes her eyes and shifts from the mortal plain. Reopening her eyes, she exits the alley, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacekt as she calmly stalks across the busy street. Pushing against the entrance door, she enters the quite restaurant and calmly takes the seat across from the only patron. The older man, dressed cleanly in a classic black and white suit, pays no mind to her presence as he quietly cuts into the meal before him with a fork and knife.

"Hello," she greets calmly.

The older gentleman looks up from the personal deep dish pizza, "Hello, Little One."

"You wished to speak with me."

Death nods slowly as he chews the mouthful, swallowing it before he responds, "Yes. You must return to Third Heaven. The Judgment has ended."

Azreal's blank expression shatters as a broad grin appears on her face, the gold flecks in her eyes sparkling with joy, "That's wonderful news."

"I want you to be careful. There are some that have been cast from the Host who will not approve of Thursday's unfortunate assistance, whether he was led astray or not. You will have to assess, and be vigilant, when performing your duty."

Azreal nods, "I will take that into account. Thank you. I will leave you."

"Of course."

Azreal grins as she stands from the table, "Stay classy, Old Man."

* * *

Returning to Third Heaven, Azreal feels her shoulders relax. Her gaze takes in the spherical wisps of light hovering in the air as she calmly weaves around each. Taking account of them, one in particular causes her to freeze. Gently, her nimble hands cup the white-blue wisp. A gently, saddened smile touches her lips as her eyes take in the gold and amber glistening among the light. Joy and mirth floods through her core, her eyes brightening as echoes of laughter rings through her head.

_Hello, brother._

* * *

**Author's Note: Gah...another plot bunny gone rabid with mad desire to be written. This is obviously post season 8 and will most likely not be canon with season 9. Leave a review and let me know what you think. Azreal is not all powerful, as you've seen, it takes a lot out of her in order to restore a _fraction_ of Castiel's grace. Doing this is actually taxing on her, spiritually as well as physically, and it leaves her vulnerable for a brief period of time; depending on the level of grace restored.**

**Read. Review. Let me know what you think. Not sure what canon character/OC romance will happen, but we will see as the story progresses.**

**Until Next Time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Angelus Mortis**

**Summary:**

When Heaven shatters and the angels are forced to Fall, the Winchesters and their resident ex-angel, Castiel, are greeted by a vaguely familiar face from Castiel's past. Azreal, the Angel of Death, and the last remaining Archangel, requests their help in restoring Heaven to its rightful place.

**Author's Note: **

I have done a background research on Azreal and adopted customs and beliefs from various religions. There are several different views and references to the Angel of Death, one being that Azreal is the _last to die_, as Azreal records and erases names of men at their birth and death. The other is depicting Azreal as commander of God's legion, as well as having a 'profound bond' with God and God alone. So really, Azreal answers to only two beings in the Supernatural world; God and Death. The only thing I take credit for in the creative license of this story is _how_ Azreal came into existence. Azreal is said to reside in Third Heaven, or 'God's abode'.

Take the time to review/follow after reading. I'd like to know what my readers enjoy about the story and what they'd like to see.

* * *

**Chapter Two  
**_Hearth_

* * *

"Here you go, Miss."

Golden-flecked green eyes blink, the dark-haired woman taken out of her inner musings at the sound of the pleasant voice. Bringing her gaze back to the young girl, barely past the cusp of adulthood, who stood behind the counter, Azreal drops her gaze to the plastic cup. Memories of her vessel lavishing her addiction to the strangely colored concoction, Azreal offers the young girl a small smile as she accepts the cool drink. Tentatively taking a sip, her eyes brighten briefly at the burst of berries and something sweet. _Smoothie._ Her vessel supplies.

"Thank you," she murmurs softly to the young woman before locating a seat in the back of the shop.

Watching as humans come and go, Azreal's thoughts travel to her current mission. After checking on Third Heaven and finding the occupants, she realized exactly what kind of damage had been done. It isn't _just_ the Warriors Metatron had cast out of Heaven. It was _everyone_. The Seraphs. The Cupids. The Grigori. The Sub-Level Archangels. Everyone had been cast out.

Everyone except Metatron.

Metatron had been nothing more than a Grigori; a Watcher of Man and interpreter of God's Will. The 'voices' of God, verbally whispering God's responses to prayers from the devout or those seeking redemption. He had been _nothing_, not in the grand scheme of Celestial bodies. He wasn't a protector, like all of the Sub-Level Archangels. He wasn't a Seraph, a warrior and known to spend most time walking among man. Metatron, being granted such an esteemed position of authority, acted as a coward.

Azreal carries no sympathy for cowards. Cowards think of themselves. Cowards show no sense of compassion for others; protecting themselves and doing what is best in their own eyes. Metatron is the epitome of a coward.

A subtle change in the atmosphere snaps her out of her thoughts, her eyes skimming over the line of people. Auburn hair. Light brown eyes. Bright, infectious smile. Young. Possibly early twenties. College student from the looks of it. Watching as the Human chatters with those standing close, Azreal cannot help but smile at the animated hand gestures and uproarious laughter that follows. One that stands out in a crowd. One that heralds affection, laughter and love.

**_Azreal, if you can hear me, it is Castiel. I know you must be busy, but my friends and I would like to ask you a few questions. I will not be making this decision without the agreement of Dean and Sam. I...I am not sure why you have granted me this gift. I am not sure I am worthy. If, it isn't too much trouble, please. _ _Amen._**

Smoothly standing from her seat, Azreal weaves around the surrounding tables. Pausing in the doorway, she glances back to the Human that caught her attention. His eyes catch her own and he pauses mid-sentence, his brow crinkling with confusion. He glances behind him before turning his gaze back to her. A small smile tugs on her lips before she pushes against the door, stepping out of the shop and disappearing among the crowd of pedestrians.

* * *

"Jesus Christ! Can't you guys wear friggin' bells or something?"

Dean's exclaim earns a twitch of the woman's lips, her eyes displaying a small show of amusement. Demurely, Azreal bows her head in silent apology as Dean jumps and twists away from her. Castiel feels a tremor crawl over his spine at the sight of the archangel. Despite her small stature, her grace carried the hollow darkness that often surrounds the eternal being; Death. It was what made her one of the most feared. He remembers watching Azreal lead hundreds of Seraphs in her garrison against Lucifer, her commands taken with respect and without question.

"You said you had some questions," Azreal greets calmly, earning curt nods from the three men, "I will answer them the best that I can."

"Would you like to sit?" Sam offers, motioning to the table she had been sitting at when they first met.

An awkward silence settles over the four. Well, at least Dean, Sam and Castiel feel awkward; all three of them unsure of how to approach the topic with the angel lounging casually. Feeling his lips twitch, Castiel shakes his head at the familiar sight. The power of Death at her fingertips and Azreal acts so _human_ at times. Unlike most of his Brethren, Azreal is one of the few that cherished humanity; most finding it odd with her being who she is.

"How did you restore Cas's grace?" Sam asks, breaking the silence.

Azreal tilts her head curiously, "Because it is within my power to do so. Unfortunately, only a fraction of his grace managed to return to Third Heaven. When an angel dies, their grace returns to Third Heaven for judgment. If deemed worthy, I am allowed to restore their grace. Some of them, however, must have a new bloodline created for their vessels if the need to walk among Man is expected."

"Why you?" Dean questions, his brow narrowed with suspicion, "I mean, why are you here now? You don't think your help was needed when your dickhead brothers were willing to tear apart the world during their bitch-fest? What makes you help important now, instead of then? Where were you, or your Father, when we needed you most?"

Azreal's fingers interlock, her hands moving behind her head as she reclines in the chair nonchalantly, "I told you before. I was performing my duties as instructed. I am not allowed to get involved in the affairs of Man, and _this_ is not the affairs of Man. The only time I walk on the Mortal Plain is when I am guiding souls into Heaven."

"The Apocalypse counts as an affair of _Man_?" Dean snarks, a sarcastic, bitter laugh barking from his lips. "You know, your Father could have stopped all of this if He hadn't abandoned Heaven."

Azreal snorts, her eyes flashing with annoyance, "God _left_ Heaven for whatever reason He had."

"Right. You _never_ question Daddy dearest."

Instead of becoming offended, a lazy, half-smile appears on her face, "No. I never question either of my Fathers. I may not agree with them, but I do not question it. The only thing I hold God responsible for, is leaving Michael, of all angels, in charge of Heaven."

"And the Apocalypse that followed?"

"Falls on the faults of Mankind," Azreal retorts, her tone bored as her gaze zeroing in on Dean's, "You Humans blame all of your problems on God and never yourselves," Dean's lips part, obviously about to argue, but Azreal sits upright in her chair and causes him to remain silent, "God gave you Free Will. The right to choose. The power to make decisions. God did not make you sell your soul for your brother's life. God did not cause you to break the First Seal," Dean flinches, but Azreal's turns her gaze on Sam, "Nor did He make you break the Last Seal," Sam's eyes fall to the table and Azreal turns her attention on Castiel, "Nor did He make you call yourself a _God_." The heaviness of the conversation is obvious on the three men before her and Azreal sits back in her chair, "Every decision you make comes with a price; whether good or bad. It is a way to test your faith. It is a way for you to learn and grow and become enlightened. It tests your strength of character and the resolve you have. Even when you make a bad decision, what you do in an attempt to fix your mistakes. All of this encompasses the idea of Free Will."

"You seem to know a lot about Free Will," Sam remarks, swallowing thickly at the barrage of memories her words bring with them, "Are you one of the angels that wishes to have it as well?"

"I have no desire for it," Azreal replies softly, her tone losing its irritation, "Though, I have to ask why you think angels _don't_ have Free Will? Especially when you have proof of it sitting next to you." The three blink in surprise, at a loss for words and Azreal shakes her head, "The reason why angels are forbidden from acting on Free Will is because they do not have the enlightenment Man carries in response to it. As you have seen, when angels make decisions in an act of Free Will, they do not carry a conscience or understanding of the ramifications their choices make. Castiel is not the first angel to strive for Free Will, and he won't be the last."

"There were others?" Castiel's gravely voice asks.

She nods slowly, "Of course. Uriel's decision to coerce the rest of your garrison in breaking Lucifer out. Anael's decision to disturb the timeline. Gabriel's disappearance from Heaven after the War against Lucifer. Balthazar's decision to smuggle Heaven's arsenal. Everything that has happened is because of Free Will."

"You said you are looking for a way to restore the angels Metatron cast out of Heaven," Sam says, changing the sensitive subject, "You gave Cas a fraction of his and it looked like you died."

Azreal sighs, "There is a certain..._crux_ where my abilities are concerned. I am unable to meddle with the life cycle of Man and restoring the grace of a _dead_ angel is taxing on my grace."

"Cas isn't dead."

Shaking her head, Azreal looks up at the three, "Castiel's _vessel_ wasn't dead. Those that have been cast out by the spell, returning their grace will not be difficult. It is the ones that died that will be taxing."

"So. You can bring angels back to life, but not humans?" Dean remarks, his suspicion draining to curiosity.

Azreal nods, "Like I said. It has been a long time since Castiel has _seen_ me, though it hasn't been long since _I've_ seen him."

"You were the one that kept bringing Cas back?" Sam asks, eyes wide as they look between Castiel and Azreal.

"Yes. My ability to mess with the cycle of Life and Death is limited. I am able to revive a human from death, _unless_ their soul has passed through one of the Gates. I cannot bring a soul from beyond and onto the Mortal Plain. The only time I fought with Death over moving a soul was...about one Earth year. I did not appreciate the underhanded deal he made you when it came to your brother's soul."

The room was silent as her eyes settled on Dean, who's green eyes slowly begin to widen with awareness, "Sam's soul? You convinced Death to the deal?"

"No," she replies curtly, "I told you. I can't take a soul that has settled beyond a Gate and return it to Earth," Dean's eyebrows crinkle with confusion, "And I don't recall saying the soul I moved was _Sam's_."

"Adam," Sam and Dean murmur before Sam asks, "Where is he now?"

"In Heaven with his mother," Azreal smiles gently as both sigh, "and his father," their shoulders tense, "and his father's wife." Two sets of hazel eyes snap toward her quickly, "They are quite happy and blissful in paradise. Some...two-story house with a sixty-seven Impala sitting in the driveway, waiting for when the rest of their family has lived out their lives and join them."

The silence that follows this time is heartfelt and a tender moment. Azreal's fingers softly drum along the top of the table, as if she is suddenly aware of the memories filling the minds of both brothers. Castiel's eyes watch Azreal as her own eyes darken, whatever mental dialogue she is currently having obviously of a troubling nature.

"So, this mission...to fix all the angels and screw up Metatron's day? This is by God's command?" Sam questions, breaking the silence and earning a small nod in return, "When the spell was cast and the angels were forced to fall, the machines over there," Sam motions toward a set of stairs leading to a second level above their heads, "went haywire, according to Kevin. It recorded a bunch of astronomical events and minor blips on the rector scale."

"May I look them over?" Azreal asks demurely, obviously not wanting to cause any reason for suspicion.

After a glance between the trio of men, each giving her a nod of consent, Azreal follows them up the staircase. Looking over the graphs and information that is way out of Sam's understanding, Azreal's finger trails over the paper. Taking the stack of information down to the first level, the guys trailing after her in confusion, they watch as she stands before the large table carrying a depiction of the Continental United States.

"Is there something I may write with that will not remain permanent on the table? Preferably two of different colors," Azreal requests absentmindedly, her eyes skimming over the pages.

Locating two Dry Erase markers, Sam offers them both to her. Calmly taking the red marker, the trio watch as Azreal begins making small marks along the map. She works diligently, slowly filling the map with hundreds of small red dash marks, her eyes constantly shifting from the rector scale readings back to the map. Capping the red marker, she removes the cap from the blue marker and silently begins marking small blue dash marks at various points, this time reading from the astrological reports. Within an hour, the entire map appears to be littered with red and blue dash marks and Azreal drops into a chair, her eyes thoughtful as she looks over the map.

"What is all of this?" Dean demands gruffly, not particularly pleased with being kept in the dark about something.

"The red marks are indications of the fallen vessels. The blue ones each mark the most probable landing point for grace. It will take me a moment to connect a vessel with the proper grace," Azreal replies, her tone absentminded and thoughtful as her eyes flick back and forth between the bi-colored marks.

Sam shifts his weight awkwardly, "Well, while we wait, did...uh...did you want something to drink?"

"Dude, angels don't need to eat or drink," Dean snarks, a teasing grin on his face at the sight of Sam's discomfort.

"Actually, the times I was allowed to roam Earth, I have found Man's affinity for decadency; such as wine and sweets, to be quite appeasing," Azreal comments without looking away from her observations. "I would prefer a glass of cold water, if you don't mind."

Thankful for the chance to get away from the strange angel, Sam leaves the room and slips into the kitchen when Dean speaks up, "How are you going to pair the vessel to the grace?"

"I'm not sure. If I can get close to the grace, I can get a reading of its signature. The vessel would have similar signatures, on a smaller scale," Azreal's voice trails off, her brow crinkling as her eyes darken.

"Well, it shouldn't be too hard, right?" Sam asks as he returns with three beer bottles and a glass of water.

Azreal gives a very human snort of disagreement, her her shaking stiffly, "It isn't matching the grace with the appropriate vessel that is the overall problem. _That_ is the only easy part of this mission. Not only do we have to keep anything _else_ gathering the missing graces, but I have to find an appropriate place for the restored angels to reside."

"Right. Because returning to Heaven with Metatron in charge would be a bad idea," Dean comments.

Azreal offers him a small smile as she nods, but the weak attempt falters, her fingers curling around the glass placed before her, her anger burning bright in her eyes, "Metatron did more damage than any of you can believe," Her eyes turn on Castiel, who tenses at the sight of her anger fading into sorrow, "_Everyone_, Sub-Level Archangels, Seraphs, Grigori, Cherubs, Cupids..._all_ of them were cast out. I have never felt so much pain in my entire existence, not even when I lost thirty members of my garrison. If Metatron feels even the smallest influx of bound grace, he will do everything in his power to seal off the Host and cancel the regeneration of grace."

"This is all my fault," Castiel sighs, his head bowing.

"Not _all_ of it, but you are equally held responsible," Azreal states matter-of-fact, her dispassionate response causing Dean to tense in defense of their friend, "That is the reason why it can _only_ be you to reverse the process. When we gather enough support, we can stage a coup. We just have to make sure the angels we restore hold no...ill-will toward you. If they hold you responsible completely, they will not support the coup and will attempt to bring forth their own regime. You thought the civil war between you and Raphael was bad? The Host, for all purposes, is up for grabs."

"Then we have to restore the angels we can trust," Castiel remarks, earning a snort from both brothers, but his eyes meet Azreal's, "What about your garrison?"

In a purely human fashion, Azreal looks away from the blue-eyed angel, a small sigh escaping her lips, "Most of my garrison is in the process of going through Judgment."

"They're dead? How?" Castiel flinches, guilt filling him at the prolonged refusal to meet his gaze, "Me? I killed them, didn't I?"

"Woah. How can you be sure Cas did it?" Dean once again coming to his defense.

"Azreal's garrison is loyal to Azreal's ruling," At the blank look, Castiel rubs the back of his neck, once again proving he has spent a lot of time around his human charge, "Azreal is and has always been loyal to God. She takes command from no one other than God, and Death whenever the occasion calls for it. Those loyal to Azreal follow her command, and her commands come from God."

"And you executed those that would not convert to your rule," Dean figures out, sympathetic toward his friend's guilt. "Wouldn't they have returned to Third Heaven though?"

Azreal's head snaps up at his words, her feet instantly rooting to the floor as she stands upright in a vicious movement. Her hands instantly clap around Dean's face carefully, the pain in her gaze fading as they brighten with a 'eureka' moment. Sam and Castiel both tense at the sudden movement, Dean's eyes wide with surprise at the careful touch from someone labeled the Angel of Death. Dean tries not to pay mind to how warm her touch is, despite her title.

"Dean Winchester. You are absolutely brilliant. I will be right back."

With a flutter, the woman is gone.

* * *

Returning to Third Heaven, Azreal immediately looks over the collection of spherical wisps. Why did she not think of this before? There is one particular angel that would prove beneficial toward her mission. One of her Seraphs. A Seraph tied with nature, in all its splendid wonder. Carefully calling out for the familiar signature, the Angel of Death cannot help the warm smile that appears when one of the spherical wisps makes a bee-line for her, dancing around her elegantly. Taking the vile from around her neck, she inwardly urges the grace to enter the chamber. As the mixture of blue-green grace fills the vile, Azreal cocks her head at the sight of the golden tinge threading through the color.

Ascension.

"I will be back for the rest of you when the time comes," Azreal murmurs gently before her silver-tinged black wings unravel from her back.

In an instant, she finds herself in the bunker, once again causing Dean to shout a string of curses. Much to her amusement.

"What the hell?"

Azreal shows the trio the vile hanging around her neck, "I will need assistance. Replacing this particular grace is going to be taxing on my body. Castiel?" The angel in question stands at attention, "Do you mind coming with me?"

"How do we know this angel won't attack Cas?" Dean asks before Castiel can agree.

Azreal's smile is warm, surprising the men before her, "This is the grace of one of my most trusted Seraphs. Well, _ex-Seraph_. It seems as though this particular grace gained an Ascension, which will render my vessel dead for approximately two hours," Castiel's eyes widen at the meaning of her words, "I am asking for Castiel's assistance, because my subordinate will not attack a living being without a command from me first. Well, unless it's to smite a demon, but that shouldn't be a problem."

"Which one is it?" Castiel's gravely voice asks gently, his eyes taking in the glowing vile.

"The Hearth of God."

"Hearth as in fire?" Sam exclaims, "You're bringing back an Angel of Fire?"

Azreal and Castiel both fix Sam with equally deadpanned stares, Azreal's voice answering, "Hearth as in warmth and home. The Hearth of God helped bring this very planet into creation. This particular angel is connected with the very nature of this planet. If anyone can help us track down _where_ to find the fallen grace, it is this one."

"I will go with you," Castiel agrees with a firm nod, eyes darkening with determination.

Azreal sighs and places her fingers to his forehead, the two of them leaving the bunker with a flutter.

* * *

The woman's soul is decorated with a blue-green hue. Azreal has always carried an aptitude and appreciation for the human soul. The warm, white light sometimes more beautiful than an angel's grace. The dazed look in the human's eyes bothers Azreal, even as the soft blue eyes stare at both her and Castiel with such a blank gleam. A human with such a bright and welcoming soul should not carry such dead eyes.

"Who are you?" the woman's voice is too soft, mystical and full of wonder.

A child's tone.

"My name is Azreal. This is my...friend, Castiel. We wish to speak to you about an important matter."

The woman's head cocks to the side, "I've heard those names before. They don't believe me. Even though I told them the voices died a month ago. They say I have delusions of grandeur."

"What is your name?" Castiel asks softly.

The woman shrugs, "I'm not sure. They call me Grace, but that doesn't sound right."

"You lost your memory? What is the last thing you do remember?" Azreal asks.

The auburn-haired woman grows thoughtful and distant, "I...I'm not sure. I woke up in the local park. They said I was screaming, cursing the Heavens above and the Hell below. They said I was talking gibberish, speaking in tongues, they said. That I was talking about devil worship and...something about Purgatory."

Azreal nods slowly, "What if I told you I can give you back your memories? The life you had before this?"

"What's the catch?"

"You will never age physically. You will outlive those around you."

The woman smirks, snorting, "Outlive these loons? That can't be difficult. It's not like I even know _if_ I have a family."

Azreal removes the vile from her neck and opens it. Calling the blue-green grace into her hand, she feels the grace bleed into the tips of her fingers. Her teeth clamp together at the violating sensation of another grace merging into her vessel. The flood of warmth and home causes her to shudder.

_Welcome back, Sister._

Azreal's hand palms the top of the woman's head, the heel of her hand pressing against her forehead. Reaching around with her other hand to cup the back of the woman's head, the attempted scream catches in the woman's throat as the foreign grace begins to bleed out of Azreal's vessel. Shuddering inwardly, Azreal struggles to keep a firm grasp, pushing every ounce of the powerful grace out of her vessel. As the warmth fades, Azreal stumbles away from the immobile vessel. Her shaky limbs causes her knees to buckle and just like before, everything stops as her body hits the floor with an unforgiving thud.

Her heart and lungs stop. Her mind grows blank. As her senses begin to darken and grow useless, she fights off the pending oblivion as the vessel leans over her with worry.

"Azreal?"

_Ariel._

Her mental sigh of relief is the last she remembers before she fades into the blissful darkness.

* * *

**Author's Note: Alright. That's Chapter Two! Leave a review and let me know what you think. There isn't much action in this, but I promise there will be some in the future. I mean, they're going to have to fight of demons and try to stay under Metatron's radar.**

**Duchess of Epic/Winterfellsfallen: Awww...I adore thee! I hope you enjoy this one! **


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